


Smoke

by rebelxxwaltz



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, Post Finale, Slash, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelxxwaltz/pseuds/rebelxxwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Tyler doesn't smoke-- except for that one time where he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Can I just preface this by saying that I love AO3 even more now for having a pre-existing 'I was drunk when I wrote this' tag for me to use? ;)
> 
> Last night I became rather tipsy (read: highly intoxicated to the point of stealing my boyfriend's cigarettes, said the non-smoker), and this wrote itself. Is that a SHORT fic written by me?! Run for the hills! This is set just after Sam's return in 2x8. He was feeling pretty euphoric just then, so who knows what he might have done later that night after they all returned from a call? POV here is Gene.
> 
> Warning: written in about half an hour and not edited very much even by the sober light of day.

**Smoke**  
  
  
He shouldn't have to put up with this. The clatter of the Railway Arms surrounded him, would normally have been a comfort if he weren't on such a hard edge already. He was shot, injured, no matter how much he was trying to be a bloody man and play it down. All the lingering questions from the Great Train Robbery of Manchester 1973 had been tossed aside, in favor of the disproportionate celebration which followed the easily foiled Archer Lane blag. So why was DI Sam Tyler acting like his past five Christmases had all come at once?  
  
Gene could count on one finger all the times that Sam had been drunker than he was himself. Including this time there was… well, fuck it. He knew the bloke was a bit of a fruitcake, but his euphoric mood had no clear origin. And right now Tyler was leering at WDC Cartwright as though they were… Gene wasn't exactly sure, but if it was what he _told himself_ to suspect the two of them would have been out the door and onto the mattress a fair few hours ago.  
  
So _what_ , then? Gene Hunt had just about reached his limit, a sentiment he expressed by grabbing his deputy by the scruff of the leather-clad neck. "Time for the off, Sammy-boy, before you make a disgrace of yourself."  
  
Sam barely struggled, waving cheerful goodbyes and leaving Annie with a kiss on the cheek far too chaste to further fuel Gene's suspicions.  
  
They staggered awkwardly into the night.  
  
The way Sam smiled as he examined the pollution-smothered skyline and the ravaged architecture almost reassured Gene that he was still dealing with the same insane individual he had grown used to. That is, until the younger man leaned back against a brick wall and grabbed Gene's arm to hinder his progress.  
  
"Guv." His speech lapsed, and Gene was almost afraid his loafers were in line to receive a rather nauseated christening. This was, apparently, not Sam's intent. "Give us a fag."  
  
Gene's face scrunched in perplexity as his body faced Sam's. "Give you wot? You don't smoke. Causes bloody _cancer_ and kills you before you turn fifty, do you need reminding?"  
  
There was an unfamiliar, strangely throaty chuckle. "Oh come on, Gene. I'm alive, tonight. I want to feel _everything_. This world, it's…" Sam grinned his maniacal grin, all teeth and moonlit brown eyes glowing in the traitorously clear streetlight. "Beautiful. Everything is so _fucking_ beautiful, and I know you keep the spare pack in your inside pocket, soooo--"  
  
Struggling was out of the question. The man was drunk and surely of no particular danger to himself or others, apart from the electric jolt that traveled up Gene's spine as Sam's hands scrambled inside his coat on a determined quest for their target.  
  
"A-ha. Brilliant!"  
  
The sneaky bastard had found his lighter and all. Spellbound, Gene watched as Sam pressed the cigarette between suddenly silent pink lips. There was a bit of fumbling with the lighter, but only enough to be endearingly unsure and most obviously _not_ clueless. What other little secrets was Sam concealing from him, if this unexpected show was in the archives?  
  
Moonlight was inconsequential compared with the fleeting cherry red luminescence of Tyler taking a long, luxurious drag from Gene's third-from-last cigarette. Sniffing and briefly looking away, Gene mentally denied any stirrings that might have occurred in the trouser department as he watched Sam smoking. Gene's shot leg was a distant memory as Sam's taut and tempting neck twisted aside, tightening by the smallest margin as the smoke curled its sinuous path between previously untouched lips. The sight of Sam Tyler letting go completely-- possibly for the first time-- revealing a sliver of his true self and letting Gene watch him shift against the wall and suck indecently on the filter of that cigarette? Well, it did make Gene feel a certain way.  
  
Gene muscled in closer, hovering just near enough so that Sam could feel his heat, maybe see the answering fire in his eyes. "Give it here, you tosser. I need a drag."  
  
Fingers swept over Gene's thirsty lips as the cigarette was transferred, perhaps by joyous drunken accident, or maybe with another intent. The ghost of wetness from Sam's own mouth, slick against the filter as Gene leaned one hand onto the brick wall, was more like a kiss than either man had ever felt before.  
  
The smoke wove a wall between and around them like a caress, burning Gene's lungs with the unexplored sharpness of Sam's delight.  
  
  
 **xxxxx**


End file.
